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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397541">Play Me a Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon'>Raisans_Grapeon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Play Us a Song [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alchemy Doesn't Exist, Alternate Universe, Bartender Alphonse Elric, Dialogue Light, Ed and Hohenheim have a moment, Light Angst, One Shot, Pianist Edward Elric, Song: Piano Man (Billy Joel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:07:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397541</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In any other circumstance, Ed would’ve thrown a punch or, at the very least, a few choice words. But he was on the clock, and Mrs. Curtis would probably toss him out onto the street again for the night if he started another fight. Instead, he kept his ear open as the rumbles of a deep, mournful whisper drifted between the keys of an idle tune.</p><p>“Son, can you play me a memory?”</p><p>---</p><p>Small fic in a series of fics based off of this animatic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfOYfIFQCzg</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edward Elric &amp; Van Hohenheim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Play Us a Song [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Play Me a Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jortking/gifts">jortking</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my fic! A few things that I should stress before I continue:</p><p>This is going to be the first in a series of independent one-shots based off of this animatic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfOYfIFQCzg<br/>I loved the idea behind the animatic and I wanted to write about it in a bit more detail. This whole series will be based on the concept of Ed and Al working at a bar Izumi runs. Al is the bartender some nights, and Ed typically plays the piano. This will be further elaborated on in future entries to this series. </p><p>Also, I'm not a professional, nor have I ever taken a writing class! Any and all critiques would be greatly appreciated and just general comments as well are also appreciated!</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steeped in the warm and dim light of candle-lit fixtures, the last notes of a boisterous and rabble-rousing drinking song petered out into mindless melodies played on a single hand. Patrons crowded around tables and bar stools, their own ruckus overshadowing the piano humming dreamily in the background. Clinking glasses and hearty laughs filled the night and staved off sleep for all in a solid 10 ft radius of the backwater bar.</p><p>Relaxing in the piano seat in the interim of drunken singing and dancing, Edward Elric let his fingers fiddle with the instrument at his fingers, not daring to stop lest his hand begin to cramp up from hours of playing. Sweat accumulated on his brow under the stuffy heat of late summer in Dublith, causing strands of blond bangs to cling to the sides of his face. Luckily enough for him, closing time was rapidly closing in. From the corner of his eye, Ed could see the bar’s owner, Mrs. Curtis, lingering in the doorway of the backrooms with her arms crossed across her chest, eyeing the clock on the opposite side of the room. </p><p>Catching a glimpse for himself, Ed surmised that he had enough time for one, maybe two more songs. It all depended on which drunkard shouted a suggestion that he knew first. He suspected that it wouldn’t take much longer for one to get bored with the lack of sufficiently upbeat tunes that would help them mask their persistent swaying.</p><p>The sound of wood against wood so close to him caught the pianist’s ears, and Edward shot a quick look over his shoulder to see who took the seat next to him.</p><p>Pale blond hair with shocks of white littering in between strands, a square, stern face, and dull, intelligent eyes hidden behind glasses. Ed’s breath hitched, shoulders stiffening enough that the hand pressing down on the ivories had stuttered and stalled before pressing onwards. He wouldn’t ever admit how openly he reacted to the sight before him, but Edward would say that he was certainly surprised to see his father sitting so close to him. While the memory was worn and blurred with water damage in his head, he could still identify the man. Even if he had aged considerably in the intervening years since Ed had seen him. </p><p>Alas, he was there. Van Hohenheim. Perched precariously on the edge of the worn chair with a tonic and gin nestled in his large hand. Ed couldn’t resist sending a questioning glare over to his brother, who was working the bar. All he got in response was a nervous smile and an encouraging nod. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, didn’t he?</p><p>Edward was quick to glare into the piano as his hand remained steady on the soft melody he worked through. Behind him, he could hear the older man shift and clear his throat. By all means, he shouldn’t have been able to hear anything over the clamor of the rowdy crowd.</p><p>In any other circumstance, Ed would’ve thrown a punch or, at the very least, a few choice words. But he was on the clock, and Mrs. Curtis would probably toss him out onto the street again for the night if he started another fight. Instead, he kept his ear open as the rumbles of a deep, mournful whisper drifted between the keys of an idle tune.</p><p>“Son, can you play me a memory?” Hohenheim’s voice was dry as a desert as he requested. A short huff of cracking laughter made its way out of his nose.</p><p>“I can’t quite remember how it goes,” he mused on. “But… it’s soft and it’s sweet, and I knew it complete… when I wore a younger man’s clothes.”</p><p>Edward’s hand slowed, notes thumping out sorrowfully as he began to catch Hohenheim’s drift. It had been many years, but he was sure he could give his old man what he was reaching out for.</p><p>The music in the bar dragged into silence as the second hand reached up to rest against the aged keys. With the lack of piano in the air, the patrons began to hush, looking up expectantly in the hopes of getting another jaunty tune to dance to. Ed silently sent an apology out to the flock of drunks.</p><p>With care and reverence, the beginning notes rang out, wrapped in melancholy. Chords harmonized as a story in the sound unfolded. It was painted with love and adoration and felt like a long-anticipated embrace that warmed the core and melted away the pain. It was the feeling of coming home after too long away. The mood built and built, even as those disinterested by the slow, lyricless song turned away to chatter on. Enough people decided to listen to the story being told through the piano that the establishment was blessedly quiet for the time of night. Yet, as he played on, Ed couldn’t stop the twinge of misfortune and regret from seeping in, slowing some bars down and ghosting over the keys so the sound could come as muffled whispers of their normally bright and loving selves. The air grew somber as the song continued. Even as it picked up, there was no shaking the overlay of mourning that had settled. </p><p>At the halfway point, Hohenheim joined in with quiet, ragged humming. He fitted his way into the melody as he closed his eyes to reminisce. Occasionally, the man would take the lead, if only for a brief moment to throw in some of his own harmonies before settling back into background noise in the back of Edward’s head. The younger man did his best to ignore his father, squeezing his own gold eyes shut in an effort to block out the other from his mind. Still, the humming lead his fingers as the tune progressed and his memories of it began to fray. The proud man he was, Ed would never give a single soul the satisfaction of knowing that his father helped him finish the old song, down to its last breath.</p><p>Ed released a steadying sigh, brows pinched after the performance. It wasn’t technically difficult, but the emotional effort put into it was draining enough, especially this late at night. One glance at the clock again told the pianist that he could rest, for the night was over, and everyone would have to go home. Silently, he thanked the muses for his good fortune.</p><p>The shouts and shuffling of Mrs. Curtis corralling the patrons out of her bar were a welcomed break from the sound of melancholy. Edward was quick to rock onto his feet and make his way to the backrooms and up the stairs to his and his brother’s room, eager to turn in early.</p><p>“Ed!,” a younger voice called from behind. Ed turned to look over his shoulder at his younger brother.</p><p>“Yeah, Al?” It took everything in him to hope that his brother wouldn’t say what he knew he would.</p><p>Al shifted, thumbs slipping under his black suspenders. “Uh… Dad wants to talk. With both of us,” he relayed, full of hope and silent pleas.</p><p>For a brief moment, Ed looked beyond his baby brother to the old man behind him. They made eye contact for a fraction of a second, then Ed turned away again.</p><p>“I said all I had to say to him.” He pressed on, even when Al began to lamely follow him, asking him to just stay for a little bit, promising a shot of the good vodka. Ed merely raised his hand to wave his brother off, stating, “I’m goin’ to bed. Come up when you’re ready. Don’t go worrying about waking me up.”</p><p>Maybe he was being childish. Maybe he was being rude. But it had been a particularly long night, and Hohenheim would have to wait till the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading all the way through! I hope you enjoyed it! If you want to see my art, my tumblr is @raisans-art.</p><p>Thank you again, comments are appreciated and encouraged, and stay healthy!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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